Page 36 of Close Encounters of the Hot Kind

"Have I offended you somehow?"

"No, I just- can we drop it?"

Silence fills the car like a physical presence. Even the engine's purr seems muted. I rack my brain for what could have triggered this reaction. Did I move too fast? Is she worried about leaving her parents? Or perhaps...

The light changes. I guide us through the intersection, considering my options. Direct questioning clearly won't work. Neither will listing amenities like some overeager realtor.

Maybe if I share something personal first? Open up about my own fears and vulnerabilities? But what could I possibly say that wouldn't reveal too much about who - and what - I really am?

The steering wheel creaks under my grip as I search for the right words. Something honest, but not dangerous. Something that might encourage her to let me in.

"See that corner?" Aileen's voice breaks through the silence. Her finger points to a small grocery store with a faded greenawning. "Mr. Rossi used to give me free candy when I was little. Said I reminded him of his granddaughter in Sicily."

I slow the car, following her gaze across the familiar streets of Little Italy.

"And that bench? Mom and Dad had their first kiss there. Dad claims he was smooth about it, but Mom says he knocked their gelatos over and ruined her favorite dress." A soft laugh escapes her lips. "They still argue about it."

We pass a small park where children chase each other around a rusty playground.

"I learned to ride my bike there. Skinned both knees so bad, but Dad wouldn't let me quit. Said Marellas never give up."

Her voice carries a weight I've never heard before. Each word feels heavy with memory, with connection.

"The whole neighborhood pitched in when we couldn't afford a new pizza oven. They organized a block party, sold tickets. Even old Mrs. Catalano, who complains about everything, bought ten tickets."

I pull up to the curb outside her building. The brick facade of Papa Marella's glows warm in the afternoon sun.

Aileen turns to me, tears glistening in her green eyes. "I've lived here my whole life, worked in the Pizzaria my whole life... I can't leave. My parents need me."

"Someday you'll need to cut the umbilical cord and head out on your own like an adult."

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. Aileen's face hardens, tears forgotten.

"Excuse me?"

"I only meant-"

"No. I know exactly what you meant." She snatches her purse from the floor. "You think I'm some child who can't make her own decisions."

"That's not-"

"I thought you understood me." Her voice cracks. "Now I wonder if you understand anything at all."

The car door slams behind her. Through the tinted windows, I watch her storm into the restaurant, shopping bags forgotten in my backseat. The late afternoon sun catches her hair, turning it to fire.

My stomach churns. The image inducer itches against my scales, a physical reminder of how alien I am to her world. To her life.

The Bugatti's engine rumbles as I pull away from the curb. Each block between us tightens the knot in my gut.

"I screwed that up." The words taste bitter in my mouth. "Badly."

The express elevator shoots up to my office, but even its speed can't outrun my dark mood. I slam through the door, yanking off my tie.

"Welcome back, sir. I trust your afternoon was-"

"Skip it, Teletran. Status report."

Teletran's holographic head materializes above my desk. "We believe the enemy has deployed a covert agent into the field. Like Veritas, they have surmised the safest route is to use subterfuge rather than brute strength."

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